A Person Of No Consequence
by bisexuwhale
Summary: Sometimes shit happens, what defines a person is how they deal with those situations. Being shoved into the body of a baby in a different world should be counted as a pretty shitty experience; its a good thing I'm a background character and of no consequence. SI OC character. Gender-confident/Androgynous. Wand-less magic! Possible Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Harry Potter or any other book characters I might mention. ENJOY!**

 **Chapter 1 :** **Waking Up**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Line ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I woke up I didn't recognize my surroundings; it was dark, almost too dark for me to see but slowly my eyes adjusted. It seemed like I was in a box: there was a metal wall a foot or so above my head with paint flaking off, towering to my left was a black bag, and to my right another metal wall.

That's when I noticed the god awful smell, it was a combination of horrific odors that seeped through my surroundings and became almost tangible. Gagging at the pungent smell of rotting milk that hit my nose I tried getting up so that I could get a better look at what I was dealing with.

It took me a few moments but I realized that my body wasn't moving right, I could wiggle my fingers and maybe shake my limbs but moving my entire body eluded me. My head felt like a brick weighing me down and even trying to turn it was impossible.

Breathing a bit heavily from struggling so much, I decided that calming down and thinking logically was more productive than just flailing around. Taking deep breaths (while trying to ignore the disgusting odors) I tried remembering what I was doing before I ended up in this predicament. I knew I had breakfast this morning . . . something with bread, toast? No, it was a bagel with strawberry jelly. I left my tiny apartment with a thermos of tea in my left hand and headed to work. Wait, did I lock my door? I think I did. What else? I know I put on my headphones and started walking on autopilot, I've waked the same route so many times that paying attention isn't really necessary. Then I . . . then I what? I can't remember; I know I walked for a while, people swarmed past me like usual and I remember listening to the soundtrack of some of my favorite movies but then . . . It goes blank.

I could have been kidnapped; it's been known to happen in big cities and it would explain why my body's not responding. What drugs muddle the body's reactions but not the mind? I'm thinking clearly or at least I think I'm thinking clearly. Having never been drugged before except when I had my wisdom teeth pulled hampers my knowledge of how to recognize if I'm thinking clearly under the influence.

Maybe my mind isn't working; I should be freaking out by now right? Being kidnapped is a scary thing but I'm being so calm about it, maybe I'm in shock. Then again, I've never been kidnapped before so this could be how I would normally react. Either way I need to get out of here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Line ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nothing worked; I've been here for hours (I think) and the drugs still haven't worn off. I tried rolling over and working slowly through the drugs by using small movements. Tried thinking of what I would do if my kidnappers came back, how I would pretend to be asleep and attempt to figure out my location. I even got desperate enough to try yelling for help but all that came out was weird garbled sounds.

I've decided that all I can do is wait, which I've been doing for a very long time. I ignored my stomach growling, hoping that the hunger pains would go away. Then I decided that kidnapping is overrated because instead of being scared like most movies depict it, it's actually extremely boring. Maybe I'll just die of boredom and never find out what happened to me; then whatever the kidnappers planed for me would be ruined. I could proclaim dying a semi-heroic death and if not, at least I was a pain in the ass until the very end. My mom would be so proud.

Then my world was shaken, literally; my container was moving and the metal wall above my face was opened. Fresh air rushed over me and it was the best moment of my life, I felt rejuvenated, I felt alive!

That was until the light assaulted my eyes, then all I knew was pain. It felt like someone was gouging my eyes out with rusty old sporks. Tears immediately began to fall and I screamed. For a while I cried so hard that I forgot my surroundings; when I felt something pick me up I startled so badly that I stopped crying and started coughing.

Stopping mid-scream made me choke; it felt like my lungs declared war against my body and decided being independent was a new life goal.

Then something slammed into my back with enough force to knock the coughing and breath out of me. Trying to regain my breath was hard when whatever knocked it out continued to do so, the repetitive assault on my back was frightening but getting air back into my body was top priority.

When I could breathe semi-normally again the beating upon my back stopped, which was a relief; I can just imagine the bruises littering my body. Squinting I tried to adjust my eyes to the new lighting, which was hard. I have no idea how long I was in that metal box but it was long enough to screw up my light perception. Which sucked, how long did it take for a person's eyes to adjust enough to not feel like hells fire descended upon their nerves?

Feeling a shift below my butt was the only warning I had before I was flying once more, the sensation of falling or driving over hilly areas comes to mind. Then I saw a blob of dark brown; it was soft and made soothing, rumbling sounds. Blinking to help clear my eyes of tears and help them adapt to the lighting, my vision came into focus on human skin, specifically a neck. Turning my head as much as I was able allowed me to glimpse a patchwork of black scruffy hair scattered across a chin, which led to a face and eventually to the sky.

Now normally I try not to judge a person by their appearance but the man holding me was huge, and I mean HUGE. Like are-you-a-giant huge; he had to be strong because I wasn't some delicate flower, I'm a 27 year old woman who cooks pastries for a living and stereotypes exist for a reason.

He carried me though an alleyway (or at least I think he did, all I can see is his face and above) and into a building with multiple levels. At first I thought he was one of my kidnappers and his hugeness was justified by the drugs still running through my system. That was until he walked up a few flights of stairs and opened a door which led into an airy living area with bright checkered furniture.

It wasn't the furniture that convinced me but the child coloring in pictures with crayons that did, it also helped that a woman came in and immediately started to fuss over me. I had a headache the size of Russia and my stomach decided to remind me of my negligence. Feeling a shifting below me, my vision swam for a moment until instead of looking up and seeing a man I saw a woman. She started walking at a brisk pace toward another part of the room all the while yelling something over her shoulder. Clanking of metal objects reached my ears and the sound of suction releasing cold air rushed over me; the combination of all these new sensations was slightly overwhelming.

After a few minutes of blurred colors and loud noises something was shoved into my face and forced into my mouth. At first I fought it, the idea of being drugged again did not appeal to me, but the force behind the action allowed some of the liquid to slip through and reach my tongue. Tasting it I realized the woman was feeding me milk and then my stomach decided my actions for me. I was sucking down the liquid before even realizing it and after a while I decided that if it was drugged then it wouldn't matter anyway. I was already incapacitated and fighting these people while unable to move was impossible, besides if they wanted to make me drink the milk concoction badly enough I wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop them.

It took a while for me to realize but after finishing the milk and satisfying my hunger I noticed how the 'cup' I was drinking from was actually a baby bottle. Feeling slightly embarrassed it took me a few seconds to realize how big the bottle was. At first I was going to ignore it and leave it to the drugs but something was telling me that I was missing something.

Looking up I noticed how my hands where grasping the bottle in an attempt to control its movements and then I noticed my hands. How weak they were, trying to hold something with no coordination; there was also the fact that they were small and pudgy. I know I'm a cuddly thing with lots of curves but my hands have never been that fluffy, even though my body's chubby my fingers have always been slender and long.

The jostling of my body brought me out of my thoughts and into the present. With my hunger satisfied and my headache abated I was able to focus on my surroundings and the words being said. The woman above me leaned over until her face was closer to mine. She smiled but her eyes were sad and teary, reaching down she grabbed the bottle from my hands and whispered in a watery tone,

"How could someone leave a baby in the dumpster, especially one as cute as you? You'll grow up to be a heartbreaker, I'm sure of it."

. . .

Oh Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Line ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 **I** **hope you enjoyed this, I have no idea when I will update next but ill try to have some kind of schedule. Please leave a comment; complements and criticism is encouraged!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm so exited, I didn't plan on uploading a chapter today but well, inspiration hit. I also want to thank**

 **the people who have decided this story was interesting enough to follow and I want to defiantly thank the**

 **people who left comments! I love reading them :) Anywho, on to the story! ~I don't own Harry Potter or any**

 **other book characters I might mention~ ENJOY!**

 **Chapter 2 : The Orphanage**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~Line ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

* * *

The drive toward the orphanage was a quiet one, my partner was silent and the kid was sleeping. Looking over I saw Rick holding the little one with a solemn air; he was a jolly man with a round, childish face that held plenty of laugh lines.

At the moment he didn't seem all that jolly, his laugh lines looked more like marks of age and a stern frown graced his lips; it made him look older than he really was.

Rick was the embodiment of disappointment, which is understandable. Being a cop isn't as glamorous as people make it out to be, but getting a call about someone finding a baby in a dumpster is a new low.

Most calls are about robbery and petty theft; maybe a missing person's report every now and then, but never have I been called in about finding a baby in the dumpster outside somebody's apartment complex.

And it is a baby, it can't be older than 6 months old with small wisps of black hair to prove its youth. The poor thing is too thin, showing its lack of care and nourishment since being born. Sharp features jut out on olive skin that has no glow, short little limbs stretched over bones with too little fat.

What was worse was that the little one probably wouldn't get that much better; the orphanages in London are all packed with too many children and not enough staff. Knowing how the poor thing will be treated without love and care was heartbreaking. Thrown away like trash and now being sent to a place with little love, if any. It was a sad sight.

"Shh. Its OK sweetheart, you're OK."

The kid was waking up.

Then its eyes opened, and things just got worse.

The tyke's big doe eyes ate up half its face, resulting in a poster child of what starvation looks like on the innocent. The grey and silver pigments that gazed at you with a knowing look was almost like being judged; an accusation for not taking care of a life so young.

It was a haunting image, beautiful, but horrid; the kid was adorable despite its unhealthy state and it wasn't fair.

It made me want to take it home; give it some food and a good rest, but I can't. I'm a cop. I have to be professional and what would I do with a kid anyway? I'm a single man with no time to take care of any children, but looking over made me wish, just for a second, that I could.

"Shh. You're Ok, everything's going to be fine."

* * *

Growing up in Anderson's Orphanage was an eye opener.

When the two cops dropped me off (not without much fussing and watery goodbyes) I expected the mass of children; hell, I even expected the low maintenance and possible neglect.

It was worse, so much worse because I wasn't imagining how it would be, I was living it.

Maggie (a sweet, if misguided and ditsy helper) settled me down in a room filled with other babies. Not all the cribs were filled; there was probably only 2 other children around my age (physically) in the room.

The cribs occupied had sheets and small threadbare blankets. It was itchy, it was annoying, but worst of all it was boring. In my past life (because I'm pretty sure I was reincarnated) I always wished to sleep my days away, now that I have that opportunity it was awful.

I couldn't move, I had no independence, I was stuck in a room with babies that would not. _stop. **crying**_.

I was going insane.

The only interaction I had was with Maggie; this consisted of being fed and changed. Sometimes an older woman came and took care of us; she had a pointy face, all sharp edges and lines. She wasn't very nice, always seemed to be muttering under her breath about misbehavior and rotten kids. Suffice to say, I preferred Maggie and her humming.

It took a while (a few weeks maybe, it's hard to keep track of time when you constantly take naps) but eventually I could move my body sufficiently. I wasn't to the point of walking or anything but I could go into a tripod stance; my legs pointed outward and my hands holding up my center of gravity. I could even move my head from side to side which I counted as a huge improvement.

Over time I got used to the nursery; with its peeling floral wall paper and bare appearance. The only issue I continued to have was that it was windowless.

Usually that wouldn't be a problem; I would just go outside for my daily dose of fresh air and avoid the room until I needed to sleep, but I was a baby and Maggie was too busy to take me outside.

I was basically living in a box. It was extremely frustrating.

I woke up in this body in a metal box, now I'm trapped in a room-box with annoying neighbors that don't know the meaning of peace and quiet.

I have a plan though. I know what mentality these people hold; the sooner I can take care of myself the happier my jailers will be and independence will be mine. All I need to do is show them that I'm ready to take that step from confined baby to exploring toddler.

* * *

Trying to climb out of my cage (crib) is harder than it looks. I've gotten to the stage of being able to stand up by holding on to the bars but anything beyond that is almost impossible. I don't have the balance yet to try and stand on my own nor do I have the strength to lift myself over the railing.

Maggie had come in once and seen me standing, but all she did was coo and mention how smart I was. No help there. If I want my freedom I need to show that I can escape my cage (crib) without assistance, showing Maggie that I'm too old for a crib and that it does absolutely nothing to keep me here.

Looking up at the railing is discouraging but I'm not giving up, narrowing my eyes I get to work.

After getting used to standing with only one arm supporting my body I reach up to the railing and try to get a grip. The old wood is chipped but smooth due to being weathered down over the years; which makes for a safe and easy grip for my baby hands.

Pulling my body up is the part that's killing me. I can barely support my body weight with only one hand, lifting my body weight over the railing is extremely improbable.

Frustrated and in dire need of a change in scenery I feel on the verge of crying (a first in this new body). It wasn't a simple want any more, a desire to have independence, but a _NEED_. I needed to get out of this crib, I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted _OUT_!

* _ **POP**_ *

Disoriented I laid on my back in a daze; the ceiling was the same cracked, off white that I've been looking at for who knows how long.

There was a difference though, it was farther away.

Moving my arms side to side I realized that the substance beneath my body was coarse and itchy but in a different way compared to my blanket.

Blinking and moving slowly I turned my head to the left.

My crib.

I was looking at my crib not from the inside, but from the outside. I looked at the wooden legs and the ratty tan carpet that rubbed up underneath me. _I did it_!

A sense of victory flooded my mind, wobbling up into a tripod stance I let out a few happy gurgles. I did it! I finally got out!

Wiggling in happiness I looked around my self; same stupid wallpaper, but now I had the option of touching it, of examining it as close or as far away as I pleased. I could move, learn how to stand on my own, and walk. My freedom was so close I could taste it!

Then it hit me, slowly, like molasses dripping; how the hell did I escape?!

Looking up at the raining of my crib (which was different and exiting) I realized I couldn't have fallen over, I couldn't even lift myself high enough to fall over.

So how the hell did I get down here?

It took me a while to figure out; in my old life I wouldn't have even allowed this to be a possible thought but that was my old life. I'm a reincarnated soul (maybe) so anything is possible.

I didn't fall, I know that. I didn't jump because I would have remembered the experience (and impact). I didn't levitate myself down because that would be to slow and again, I would have remembered. What happened was instantaneous; it left me dizzy with vertigo.

If Sherlock Holmes taught me anything it was that, " _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_ ", so after using my deduction skills I came up with this.

I fuckin **_Teleported_**.

Think about it, one second I was in the crib, the next on the floor. That has to be the answer; I have superpowers! This opens so many new doors, I could do anything!

In my little revelation I didn't realize that the door was opening until it was too late. It wasn't Maggie.

" _What are you doing out of your crib_?!"

Snapping my head up (ouch!) I saw Pointy face looking, well, super pointy. She had a look of shock which was slowly morphing into anger; red blotchy spots appeared on her old wrinkly skin. Her mouth opened revealing nasty yellow and _brown_ teeth; then she screeched.

"Maggie, you worthless peace of _shit_ , get your boney ass up here this minute!"

That's when the babies started crying.

* * *

It didn't quiet down for hours. Between Pointy face's (apparently her name is Mrs. Donahew) screeching and the babies crying, it was like listening to a chorus of deaf people. After 20 mins of this torcher I wished I was deaf (but not really because my last wish came true and I don't really want to be deaf; that would complicate things more than it already is).

Mrs. Donahew thought Maggie let me out of my cage (crib); which apparently she's not allowed to do (this explained so much). This resulted in Maggie pleading her innocence and Mrs. Donahew trying to make her confess her sins or something; it was hard to pay attention with the migraine building due to the constant crying thanks to my neighbors (I was back in the crib).

Then another woman showed up; she was plump with veiny hands and a raspy voice that belonged to a chain smoker (she was).

This was Mrs. Anderson, she owned the orphanage. I'm guessing it's been passed down in her family considering it's called the _Anderson_ Orphanage.

Mrs. Anderson broke up the one sided yelling match and proceeded to berate both of the women before her. Maggie more so because she left the other children under the watch of someone named McDougal who is incompetent when it comes to keeping a 'firm' handle on the children. Then Mrs. Donahew was hissed at (I don't think Mrs. Anderson could yell even if she wanted to) for causing such a scene and not just taking care of the situation herself.

After that smack down Mrs. Anderson left in a huff, commenting on incompetent staff, Mrs. Donahew also left, presumably to look after the children with McDougal, and then there was Maggie.

I felt somewhat bad for her; left standing at the open door with teary eyes and a handful of crying babies. Not to mention she got in trouble for my escape (but I'm not really sorry, I learned that I could _teleport_ ). So with teary eyes and a downcast slump to her shoulders, Maggie set about calming the crying babies down.

She sung her songs in a depressed tone and rocked the babies with little enthusiasm, her head hung low the entire time. Truthfully she looked utterly pathetic; letting the other caretakers' boss her around like that is her own fault, she should stand up for herself.

When she was done calming down the other babies she slumped over to my crib. Looking down, she met my eyes.

She wasn't a horribly ugly woman, not like Mrs. Donahew. Maggie had an oval shaped face with pale, almost unhealthy translucent skin. Her eyes were a light, milk chocolaty brown and her hair matched in a tangle of curls held back in a bun. She couldn't be older than 25.

Then she started to cry. Great big ugly tears, the kind that leaves you feeling horrible with red eyes and a stuffy nose; she leaned against my crib, her hands supported on the railing.

Then I felt bad. I still don't regret what I did, I want to be free, but I didn't mean to make the one person I can tolerate in this hellhole cry.

She still looked pathetic, like a bug attempting to climb up a drain while it was raining. I didn't like her, I didn't owe her anything, but I also didn't _dislike_ her and in this place that's good enough.

Standing with the help of the bars I looked up into her teary face. Then I reached up with one hand until I grabbed hers on the railing and gurgled.

Her eyes snapped open; shock was predominating in her expression and her crying lapsed into a hiccup fit. Throughout the entire thing I continued to hold on to her knuckles and made little noises in the back of my throat.

Slowly she stopped and stared into my eyes; her brown met my grey as she reached down and picked me up. Her hold was soft and secure, our eyes never broke contact.

She still looked upset, eyes a red puffy mess and soft aborted hiccups kept escaping her mouth.

Time to bring out the big guns; so I smiled and made an aborted little giggle, my hands clasped on to her shirt and I made my eyes go as wide as I could make them.

She smiled back.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Line ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 **Yay! Second chapters done, hopefully the next one wont take too long.**

 **Please leave a comment, a simple "good job" goes a long way :)**

 **Until next time, Bye~**


End file.
